


Things From Picon

by Marzi



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-17
Updated: 2012-11-17
Packaged: 2017-11-18 20:48:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/565127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marzi/pseuds/Marzi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laura buys Sam at a charity auction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things From Picon

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my beta, afrakaday

Laura traced the raised text of the card, an empty glass of wine in front of her. The others at the table were too preoccupied getting drunk themselves to notice her wavering focus. She had just finished with the 'e' in 'live' when the waiter returned to give her the third glass of wine for the evening. She gave him the tip she had wrestled out of her wallet earlier when everything hadn't felt so removed. Laura had just started tracing the 'c' in 'auction' when an unbelievably chipper voice picked up over the speakers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, bidding is about to start.”

She looked down at the numbered paddle that had been given to her earlier that night. It would gather dust in a box somewhere after this, she would at least be giving it a head start, as she had no intention of bidding. Her eyes tried to focus on the stage.

Tonight's lot was comprised of the Caprica Buccaneers.

The team had recently made some big trades and was looking for publicity for its new captain. Laura normally wouldn't have known anything like that, but it was all that had been spoken around her by the pyramid enthusiasts. She had come to the event, not to see the pyramid team, but to support the cause of the charity that had been picked. She had donated to them previously, though in the past, she had never left her home to do so. The only reason she had even bothered to go was because she couldn't bring herself to come up with a better dinner plan.

She took a sip of her wine as the first player was ushered under the spotlight.

Shouts went up as her name and position on the team was announced. Bidding started at 200 cubits. Laura was halfway through her wine when it concluded at 1200. The ruddy-faced judge who had won probably spent the same amount of money on alcohol that night. She looked down to the table and began scratching the gold paint off the card she had been tracing. Shiny flakes stuck to her skin and the bleached white tablecloth.

The next lot went for 1400.

1100 for the one after.

Laura ordered another glass of wine when she found hers was empty.

A cry of '1600 cubits?' made her look up at the stage and squint through her not-insignificant buzz to try and make out the player. Sue-Shaun was ushered off the stage after reaching 1750 cubits.

After that the participants seemed determined to rile each other up, egged on easily enough by the auctioneer.

2100 cubits.

1890 cubits.

Laura stared at the glass in her hand, trying to remember how much she had had to drink that night. She wondered if they refilled the glass or gave her a new one each time. She swirled the liquid around the crystal, amazed that she wasn't spilling any.

2000 cubits.

She scraped more gold paint off the card.

1560 cubits.

1800 cubits.

A hush settled over the auction house, and Laura finished her last drink, figuring that the lots had finally finished. A man at her table bellowed and smacked his hand down, and her body felt too sluggish to jump in response.

The last lot was brought up on stage.

Samuel T. Anders. The new team captain.

The auctioneer jokingly started things off at 90 cubits. It jumped upwards quickly.

150.

250.

400.

Laura reached across the table to wipe gold paint off the paddle in front of her. Leaving a mess seemed rude.

500.

700.

1000.

Laura raised the paddle into the air. It listed slightly to the side, but she couldn’t bring herself to straighten it. One thousand was a good number.

She could see the man she had just bid for trying to spot her in the crowd. She doubted her could see her with all the lights in his face, but twirled the paddle regardless. It dropped from her hand and almost landed in her wineglass.

1400.

1700.

2000.

Laura recovered the paddle and raised her number again. The people at her table started to look at her strangely. She couldn't understand why they were, until she remembered she had introduced herself to them earlier.

2500.

2700\. Some smug bastard on the other side of the room.

Laura could see gold flecks she hadn't managed to dislodge when she raised the paddle. She shouted 'three thousand' and was surprised at how her voice carried.

No one countered through the auctioneer's excited babbling, and Samuel T. Anders went to her. Laura squeezed her eyes shut, feeling one close before the other, vision beginning to dance slightly. She needed to get herself into a cab before she passed out. She wondered if she'd be able to see the check clear enough to write it. Three thousand cubits. All it was doing was sitting in the bank anyway.

The auctioneer thanked everyone for their generous donations to Caprica General's breast cancer research department, but the crowd was hardly paying any attention with the main event over.

Laura tried to locate her checkbook before she remembered she had to find her purse first. She knocked the empty wineglass over and swore. Thankfully, the noise in the room covered it and she righted the glass without further incident. Laura found her purse and stood, palms flat on the tabletop to keep herself moving upwards. It was going to be a long walk to the street outside after she handed over her check. Which she still needed to write. She wove her way through the tables, hoping that the winding path she had to take covered up some of the unintentional sway in her step.

Someone lent her a pen when she reached the stage, and once she managed to get her glasses on, it wasn't nearly as difficult to write the check as she thought it would be. Laura handed it over with a slightly queasy smile. She hadn't eaten nearly enough to help combat the amount of wine she had been drinking. The man just beamed and thanked her again, easily disregarding her inebriation.

She stumbled on the way to the door, catching herself on the back of a chair. The heat under her skin made her eyes feel dry, and the room danced under the guidance of the fairy lights strung across the ceiling. Gods, she shouldn't be outside like this.

Cab. Home. Sleep. Now, she insisted to herself, but her legs didn't want to cooperate.

“Here, let me help.”

An arm looped through hers, steadying her. She patted the stranger's hand thankfully and leaned on them heavily as they started for the door.

Take two, she thought bitterly, but managed to make it all the way without having to stop.

The man who helped her hailed a cab, and even held the door for her. She managed a kind of dignified fall into the back seat, and was about to thank him when he sat down next to her, careful not to jostle her too much as he made room for himself. Laura squinted through her glasses.

It was Anders.

“Where to?” the driver asked.

Laura managed to remember her address and answer. Perhaps going home wasn't such a good idea when a stranger was with her. Except not going home really felt like the worse option at the moment. She closed her eyes and rested her fingers against her forehead, thankfully her company didn't feel it was necessary to speak. When they reached her apartment, he paid while she fumbled for her purse. He held open the door after he got out and she inched her way after him. Before she could say anything, he sent the cab off.

“You don't have to stay, you know.” She was having trouble focusing on him, but at least her words seemed to be forming clearly.

“I figure for three thousand cubits, I can at least make sure you get to your door.”

She tried to locate her apartment from the sidewalk, but the street light blinded her outside its sphere of yellow light. She jolted forward, fairly sure she would find the stairs one way or another, and tripped onto the bottom step.

Laura pulled herself up the steps with heavy support from the rail, feeling him just behind her. She wondered if he'd really be able to catch her, or if they would both go crashing down. That was the last thing she needed. The headline swam before her eyes: 'Secretary of Education Kills Rising Pyramid Star in Drunken Fall'. She would have laughed, except she knew the action would cause all the alcohol in her stomach to jostle unnecessarily.

The key cooperated for her, but she hesitated before opening her door. She looked over her shoulder at the young man, trying to gauge his expression.

“You can come inside, I'll call you a cab.”

He looked surprised. She wondered where he expected to walk to if she hadn't let him in. When she opened the door, she had to remind herself not to immediately kick off her heels, lest she trip her guest. She slammed her palm against the switches on the wall, managing to turn the porch light and the bookcase lights on, but leave the main area light off. Pushing against them again, the porch light went off and the living room came on. Satisfied, she stepped through the door and let Anders pass.

Making sure he was far enough into the room, she leaned against the wall and began pulling off her heels. She heard her front door click shut and twisted around on one foot to see him watching her, one hand on the door. Unbalanced, she toppled to the side, one shoe in hand, the other half off her foot. He caught her around the waist before she could face plant into the carpet and she moaned as her stomach protested.

“Uh, where's your bathroom?”

She pressed her lips together, not wanting to tell him she wasn't going to get sick for fear of getting sick by doing so. After a few deep breaths through her nose, she managed, “I'm fine, just help me to the couch.”

After making sure she was standing straight again, he relieved her of her shoes and then helped guide her forward to sit. She sank down into the cushions and immediately curled towards the pillow by the arm. She hugged the pillow close to her chest and closed her eyes, feeling sleep creeping up on her over the growing nausea.

“Is there anything I can get you?”

“Fridge.” She didn't open her eyes. “Coconut water.”

She heard him move, and was glad she didn't have to open her eyes to direct him. It wasn't like it was impossible to see the refrigeration unit from where they were at the couch. He bumped into something and her pans rattled, letting her know he had at least gone in the right direction.

“You know.” She heard the fridge open. “The only time I've seen people use coconut water to avoid a hangover was back on Picon.”

“You're from Picon?”

“Yeah. You didn't know?”

Laura decided against answering.

“I take it you're not a pyramid fan then.” His steps grew louder as he made his way back to her.

“Maybe I'm just not a Buccaneers fan.” She held out her hand in anticipation of the drink.

“No, everyone knows the competition.”

“You've caught me then. I'm not a pyramid fan.” Her fingers closed around the plastic container, and as she brought it to her lips, she was thankful he had already opened it. It hadn't even occurred to her that she should have had to take the top off until she was already drinking.

When he didn't answer, she opened her eyes. He was seated on the edge of her coffee table. She would have frowned, but couldn't bring herself to care.

“What's the matter, Mr. Anders? Not used to being in the presence of someone who isn't a fan?”

“No, I'm plenty used to people not being a fan of me, and you can call me Sam.”

“Laura.” He had helped her drunk ass home, she could offer him the use of her first name.

“Nice to meet you, Laura.”

She took another sip from her drink, watching him through half-lidded eyes. “You can sit on the couch, if you like.” Her eyes strayed to his left hand. “And you can put my shoes down, just under the coffee table is fine, that way no one can trip on them.”

Sam put her shoes under the table, but stayed standing.

“I should be calling you a cab,” Laura realized. Maybe he really was just a decent person who had wanted to make sure she got home.

“Sure, but uh, I was wondering if I could use your bathroom?”

“Oh. Yes, just... down the hall on your left.”

Laura closed her eyes once he was out of sight, keeping up with her slow, steady breaths. Her body was still upset with her, and she probably would be throwing up later. This was not better than reheated leftovers on her own. Why had she thought it would be? She settled herself back against the cushions, groaning as she tilted her head back, tightening the grip on the pillow in her arms. Coconut water spilled on her fingers when she tilted the container over too far, and she righted it without opening her eyes.

She thought about trying for something solid before her body's inevitable shutdown, but didn't want to risk it. Laura drank more coconut water, licking what had spilled earlier from her fingers.

“Is there anything else I can get you?”

Her tongue was on her right forefinger. She wondered what kind of picture she was making. “No, thank you. Just... sit down.”

She felt him settle on the other side of the couch.

“How long until the cab gets here?”

Frak.

She must have made some sort of noise, because he started to chuckle.

“It's alright. I can call, if you really want.”

“If I really want?” She mustered up the energy to look at him from the corner of her eye.

“You spent three thousand cubits for what is supposed to be a full night in my company. If you want me to stand in the corner and be a coat hanger, I don't mind. But, if you need someone to... uh...”

“Make sure I don't fall down and drown in my own vomit?”

He stared back at her, beginning to look uncomfortable. “I'll just--” He stood. “I'll call that cab.”

Laura sighed. “No, I'm sorry. Just, sit down.” Once he had settled again, she continued. “I just... really hadn't planned on bidding tonight. I hadn't planned on going.”

“Well, I'm glad you did.”

She snorted.

“Really. The other guy who was bidding was a reporter who's been bugging me since I got the new position on the C-Bucs.”

“Glad I could provide the rescue,” she drawled.

“I certainly am.”

The sincerity of his words chased away the rest of her sarcasm. “You're welcome.” When she blinked, it took a second for her eyes to open again. “And thank you for making sure I got home.”

“No problem.”

“Is there someplace you'd rather be?” She took another drink, having to bring her mouth to the bottle in order to make sure she didn't accidentally jab herself in the face instead.

“What?”

“I don't want to hold you up from doing whatever it is pyramid players do, but... if you want to stay, you can.”

“Thanks.”

“M'probably not the best... company... but...” It was hard to keep her eyes open, and the couch had warmed pleasantly to her body heat.

“That's alright.”

“Books. N'some drinks in fridge.”

“Okay.”

He sounded a little amused, and she couldn't fathom why.

When Laura opened her eyes, the blanket from the back of the couch was tucked around her. She noticed that after first noting the dryness of her mouth and disgusting lingering aftertaste of alcohol. She groaned.

“Didn't think you'd be up already.”

Laura's focus snapped to Sam sitting on her ottoman, book in hand. It took a moment to remember that she had invited him to stay. She pulled the blanket closer, wondering why the hell he had decided to linger around and watch her sleep.

He seemed to be reading her mind, or her expression was more telling than she thought. “I stayed so you didn't have to worry about thinking I'd taken something. If you decide to call the cops, they won't have to waste anytime searching for me.”

Laura decided that was a decent enough answer. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Almost two hours.”

She pushed herself up. “What are you reading?”

“History of Mathematics.”

Laura spotted her coconut water on the coffee table and happily reached for it. Her glasses were folded next to it and her hand knocked against them. “Interesting choice.”

“Math and I get along.”

“That sounds like there's something you don't get along with.”

“Doesn't everyone have something they don't get along with?”

She hummed, finishing off the bottle. Her stomach burbled unhappily, but her mouth felt less dry.

Gods, she had to pee.

Pushing the blanket off, she stood and shuffled down the hall, not bothering to try and straighten her wrinkled clothes. Sam was still reading when she came back to the front room. She flicked the light in the kitchen on, moving for the fridge.

“Do you want anything?”

“I got water earlier.”

“Going to give me a list of everything you've touched while I was asleep?”

“I could if you want me to.”

“No.” She took out another coconut water and a leftovers container from the fridge, pushing the door closed with her foot. Laura managed to get everything onto the counter when he spoke again.

“I've never read this version before, where did you get this book?”

“My father got it back when he was just a student. Not sure where.”

“An original, no wonder.”

Laura frowned, wondering how old the book was.

“Feeling better?”

“No,” she answered truthfully. “But I will.”

“That's good.”

She opened the food container. Day-old fish. Apparently this was the night where she would be surrounded by things from Picon. “Do you normally read in your time off?”

“As much as I can.”

“All histories of math?” She leaned her hip against the counter, opening a drawer to procure a fork.

“No. I have to read up on the other teams, strategize. Find the best ways to get my team into shape. Make game plans.”

“And in the off season?”

“Then I read all the histories of math I want.”

“Not what I expected from a professional pyramid player.”

“Us jocks can surprise you.”

She hummed around a forkful of fish.

“I have to say, you aren't what I expected from the secretary of education.”

Laura swallowed, throat feeling dry due to more than her stomach's unwillingness to accept food. “I have to say, I'm not used to being recognized.”

“I had heard someone from the cabinet was at the auction, and you have government papers on your desk. I put it together.”

“Maybe I do want that list.”

“I didn't actually touch the papers.”

She pushed the food away and picked up her drink.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean-”

“No. It's okay. I'm not exactly what I thought the secretary of education would be either.”

“Oh.”

“I hate politics,” she admitted. “Never wanted to get involved in them. Just wanted to teach.”

“I think you managed to stay closer to your original goal than me.”

“What was your career plan?” Coconut water in hand, she went back to the coach, leaving the fish out on the counter. She would throw it out next time she walked by it.

“I wanted to get a PhD in physics, then become a part of a research group. Got the undergraduate degree, then I was scouted for pyramid.”

“What tempted you to stop getting the higher degree?”

“It just slowed me down, really.”

“You go to school in the off season.” Laura smiled, moving the blanket out of the way so she could sit. Once settled, she pulled it back over her lap.

“Yeah.”

“You're still on your path, you haven't strayed at all.”

“Feels like it.”

“Quit.” She pulled a pillow into her lap, curling into it as she leaned against the arm of the couch. “Stop playing pyramid and go to school full time.”

“I'm under contract.”

“Solutions seem so simple until you say them out loud.”

Sam had set the book aside, and was occupied in just watching her. Laura stared back until she was distracted by a tangle of hair that had fallen over her face. She pushed her hand back over her hair and her fingers got caught in other snarls.

“Gods, I'm a mess.”

“You're really not.”

“Thank you, I suppose.”

“You're welcome.”

She smiled, letting her focus drift to the street lights through the window behind him. “You've got time, Sam. You can still do what you want to.”

“Maybe. You don't think you have time to go back to what you want?”

Laura thought about the three consecutive doctor's appointments she'd skipped. They didn't need to factor into anything. “I don't know if I'd know how to go back.”

“Go back or leave?”

“Bit of both.” She chuckled darkly. “Maybe I should just quit my job and go somewhere.”

“Picon?”

“Yes, that seems to be tonight's theme. You're a sign from the Gods Sam, I should stop what I'm doing and move to Picon.”

“I've heard of worse signs.”

“And there’s certainly worse things to be fated to do.”

He smiled, and Laura was surprised at how sad it made him look.

“When was the last time you were there?”

“What?”

“Picon.”

“I was in an airport a few months ago.”

“When did you last live there.” Laura felt her lip twitch towards amusement at his evasiveness.

“Years.”

“I’ve been to the other colonies on business, but I’ve only ever lived on Caprica. Only ever lived in this city.” Saying it out loud felt strange, though she always had known it. Caprica City was the boundary of her life. “What was it like?”

“I first left when I was just a kid, but... it’s where I’m from.”

“Home.”

“Yea, home. What’s it like,” he countered with a smile, “to live at your home your whole life?”

“It doesn’t feel like home. Hasn’t for years.” She ran her finger around the lip of the bottle in her hand.

“What changed?”

“Everything.” Laura leaned forward and set the coconut water on the coffee table.

“That’s a lot of change.”

His flippancy, his half-smirk, angered her. “My family died.” Sam held her gaze and she slowly realized he hadn’t been mocking her. She looked down to the fabric that was bunched between her clenched fingers. “After that, home isn’t here.”

“You stayed anyway.”

“There didn’t seem to be anything else to do.” She smoothed her hands over her pillow, trying to dissipate their shaking.

“You could have just gone to Picon.”

Laura laughed, and it made her chest hurt. “Picon. That would have solved everything.”

“Home is somewhere.”

“I suppose that’s something to do. Find home before I die.” The last word had barely left her lips when she felt her stomach curdle. She shouldn’t have said that. It was a stupid, pointless, ridiculous thing to say. The tremor she had been trying to suppress earlier shook her whole body, and Laura shoved the blanket off her legs, feet seeking out the floor. The pillow in her lap tumbled down and bounced off the edge of her coffee table.

She was going to be sick.

“Laura?”

Her toe caught the foot of the couch when she lurched towards the hallway. The lights were still off, but she didn’t let herself slow down once she reached the dark. One hand blindly in front of her to push open the door, she turned into the bathroom and her shoulder caught the frame.

At least she had expected throwing up earlier.

Cold sweat made her hands stick to the porcelain as she clutched the edge of the toilet. Strands of hair stuck to her face and she hoped none of it made it into the mess she was making. She felt marginally better after her stomach emptied itself out, until the smell came back to her and she started dry heaving.

Light filtered through her hair, and she realized Sam must have followed her. Shakily she raised her head, feeling her knees grind painfully into the tile as she sat back on her heels. He was at the sink, running water over a washcloth. She spat into the toilet, trying to clear the acid from her mouth. Ignoring its trembling, she reached her hand forward to flush. Laura closed her eyes against the noise, breathing in a manner she hoped would keep her stomach from spilling over again.

Fingers brushed the hair from her face and a warm compress was put against her neck.

It felt wonderful, and if weren't for the tiles under her knees and the terrible taste in her mouth, Laura would have gone back to sleep. “Why are you helping me?”

“Three thousand cubits and you didn’t even mean to bid.”

She started shaking again and he crouched behind her, lending his body heat.

“You going to throw up again?”

She licked her lips. “I don't think so.”

Holding the compress with one hand, he rubbed gentle circles down her back with the other. “I'll get you some water.”

“There's plastic cups in the cabinet.” She tilted her head towards the sink and her stomach rolled.

He stayed with her a moment longer, rubbing circles into her back until the shaking stopped, before fetching the cup. She accepted the tap water gratefully, rinsing her mouth and spitting into the toilet before taking a drink. Sam helped her to her feet once she finished, and she rested her forehead against his shoulder.

It was hard to keep her eyes open. “Bedroom. End of the hall.”

He got her out of the bathroom without clipping her against any of the walls, for which her newly bruised shoulder was grateful. Sam didn't hesitate at her door and walked right in with her, finding the light switch without asking. Her bed was made and the only noticeable mess was a stack of books and papers on her nightstand. He finally stopped at the foot of the bed.

“Um...”

“Just need to get rid of this blazer. Don't need to change.” Her fingers fumbled with the large buttons until he assisted. Laura worked herself out of the sleeves and quickly dropped onto the bed once freed. “Just throw it on the floor.” She laid down and made a slow crawl up until she could reach one of the pillows.

The bed dipped as Sam joined her on top of the comforter. Before she could wrap her arms around a pillow, he put his arms around her. His collarbone was in her direct line of vision.

“Sam...”

Dear Gods, when was the last time someone had held her on this bed fully clothed?

“Laura.”

She reached out and clutched the front of his shirt. “I really didn't. Mean to bid.”

“Must have just been the right thing to do.”

“The right thing. Do you think you're doing the right thing?”

“I think helping you is a good thing.” He ran his hand up and down her arm, as if to keep her warm.

She closed her eyes. “Promise me you'll be gone when I wake up.” It was the most common thing. She couldn't handle something different right now. Didn't want the change. The help.

He pulled her closer, and she fell asleep before she could hear an answer.

When she woke up, it was finally morning. Her comforter had been pulled over her, and a headache was beating merrily away on the inside of her skull. She didn't see Sam when she opened her eyes. Slowly pulling herself out of the cocoon of warmth, she decided to forgo stopping in her bathroom and went straight for the hall. She almost tripped over her blazer stepping away from the bed.

She couldn't hear water running in the bathroom. Laura stepped into her kitchen, scanning the living room over the counter. The blanket was still bunched up on the couch from when she had passed out there earlier. History of Mathematics was laying open on the ottoman. Sam was gone.

Laura took the leftover fish off the counter and threw it in the trash.


End file.
